The Aged Child of Neverland
by Delacroix's Languor
Summary: Neverland is a place of pure, unadulterated childhood. Yet, how did Captain Hook manage to reach adulthood in this magical land? Wasn't he once a child, too?
1. Bitter Heart

Dark strands of hair nearly touched the now furrowed brow. The nose was long and came to a slight curve at the bottom. His lips, thin and angled, complemented the foreboding look he so often wore on his face. His sunken blue eyes stared out of the doorway he was now approaching.

"Reginald, please don't walk away when your father is talking to you," said the soft-spoken women rocking in the chair. She had his same dark hair, the same blue eyes. But her face was kinder, though considerably more weathered.

He hated it when she used that tone. So soft, so delicate, so—pretentious. It was insufferable the way she always had up this façade of pleasantry.

She was weak.

"Reg, please. Your mother and I have been talking. We want to know if you're alright. You don't seem, ah, well, happy."

His father wasn't much better than his mother. Going in early to work at the lumberyard, coming home late at night, still cheery as ever. It was disgusting the way in which he carried out his monotonous existence. His back drooped, his hair was whitening. And yet he would never dream of complaining.

Reginald knew that he would never suffer from such spinelessness.

He also couldn't stand being called Reg, not by anyone, but especially not by his father. If there was one thing the boy couldn't stand it was nicknames. It was bad enough that the pronunciation of his last name made him sound like he had a speech impediment: _Plath_.

He continued walking towards the door. "Reginald, wait! Show your mother and I some resp—" His father's voice was cut off by the now closed door.

Those two were always like that. Asking him whether or not he was happy, wanting to know if he wanted anything, whether or not he was making friends. They were what others called _loving parents_. They were what he called _pathetic_. And because neither one of them had a backbone, they would let Reginald alone in his room, which was fine by the boy. It was in his room that he could dream of his departure. He was imagining it now:

_A still night. His parents sound asleep. If anyone would be looking from the street, they would see only a black form quickly emerge from the fourth floor window. Just as soon as it appeared, the shadowy figure would vanish. Sliding down a makeshift line, the shadow would touch down in the alley. It would make his way to the docks not far from his poor London home. Eventually, the shadow finds a ship of Her Majesty's fleet, in desperate need of a cabin boy. The young Plath signs on immediately, soon to move up through the ranks. Undoubtedly, he would become a captain, feared by crew and enemy alike. Captain Reginald Plath would have respect, fame, pow- _

His train of thought was interrupted by the opening of his door.

"I brought you some tea with honey. I thought you might like some before you go to sleep."

The woman's eyes were red and puffy. Reginald's stomach turned in disgust.

"Leave it there," replied the brooding boy.

"Dear, is there anything that I—"

"I require nothing more from you. Good night," said Reginald, coldly.

She said nothing more as she left the room, though Reginald could hear a faint whimpering coming from somewhere down the hall.

"Stupid woman." he thought, "Why is everyone around me so ignorant and sensitive?"

He was thinking of his schoolmates. Reginald had little patience for them and their pathetic games. Oh, he'd been invited to play quite a few times. Who wouldn't want the tallest boy in the class to play on their team? Eventually they had given up, tired at the insults he hurled at them whenever they invited him. But, just to make clear, Reginald was never abused and he was never mistreated. In fact, he wouldn't have been so disliked if it wasn't for his cruel disposition. No, Reginald had a blackened heart that delighted in its rebellion. He would make sure that he was never exposed to the lowly humility of those around him. Reginald Plath _would_ make a name for himself.

"I must get out of this house," Reginald whispered as his eyelids finally shut.


	2. Living Lantern

**Hello, World!**

**Well, I probably should have done this in the last chapter, but I DO NOT own Peter Pan or any characters, places, magical items associated with him, the play, or any of the movies. **

**Read, review, and enjoy!**

His eyes suddenly opened.

Reginald scanned the room, aware that something was out of place—there! A small light, no bigger than a fist, flashed by the opposite wall. The boy leapt from his bed, eyes focused on the light. The light darted back towards his window, which Reginald now noticed was opened. He jumped on the bed and threw the window shut before the light could escape.

_Thump!_ The light hit the window and fell on the dresser below the sill.

"Gotcha!" whispered Reginald as he threw an open box on top of the now flickering form. But what exactly had he caught?

Now that the excitement was over, he could feel his breath. He was nervous, frightened even.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered to himself.

And that's when he heard it. From inside the box came the soft, though distinct, sound of a little bell. Reginald's eyes widened. He quickly picked up a book lying close by, set it on top of the box, and backed away.

He now knew exactly what it was that he had caught. The voice of that ignorant Barrie boy from school came clearly to his mind: 

_No, really! Fairies are real! They're small little things, no bigger than this _(he held out his small hand, now clenched)_. They look like little lights that flicker about. And they make sounds like little bells. They like happy children. But you can't be mean to them. If you say something really mean, like you don't believe in them, they stop shining and then they die. But if you're nice to them, they'll give you a bit of their dust and—No, I'm not making it up, Richard! Really! Stop it! Don't shove me Reginald! Please, stop making fun—_

"So this is what that prat was talking about," thought the boy to himself. Reginald had the good sense to dismiss what the boy had said. Yet, he had been right. There was no way around it; the fairy tales of the impish boy were true, or at least this one was. What was it that the boy had said?_ If you say something really mean, like you don't believe in them, they stop shining and then they die._ Reginald couldn't think of a better way to repay the boy for his stories…a real, though quite dead, fairy in a box. A smirk appeared across his face.

"I don't believe in f_—_" Reginald paused mid-sentence. _But if you're nice to them, they'll give you a bit of their dust. _What could dust possibly do? He thought back on the stories he'd been told throughout his childhood. Magic had always been involved, especially with fairies. Broomsticks, rings, and other common items had always been used for magic. But dust? Well, he didn't even believe in fairies until five minutes ago. Magical dust shouldn't be that hard to accept, given that he had just captured a real fairy.

Reginald walked back over to the box. He had a plan formulated. Though he was a cruel child, Reginald could play the charmer when need called for it. A softening of the eyes, the gradual droop of the shoulders had gotten him out of many a beating at school. This simple creature would be easily won by the boy. He just had to hold his temper in check—until he got what he wanted out of the fairy.

"Hello, Fairy?" said Reginald, in his most demure voice. "I'm sorry I threw this box on you. I was in the middle of a dream when I saw your beautiful light and, I don't know what came over me, but I wanted so bad to have that wonderful light. I do hope you'll forgive me. I'm going to take the box off of you. Please don't fly away. I would very much like to get a proper look at you."

A small _tinker_ came from inside the box, as if in affirmation.

"Here you are—" Reginald was cut off as the moment he lifted up the box the fairy darted directly at his face, stopping only an inch short of his nose. She was looking at him with her big blue eyes, now staring intently into his own. Her radiance had toned down somewhat so that most of the light now came from her short golden hair.

They held each other's gaze for another moment. Then, the fairy hovered back down to the dresser and stared expectantly at the boy.

The boy continued his flattering dialogue. "Tell me, where are you from? You can't be from here because we do not have anything as beautiful and brilliant as you, not in London, anyways."

Her cheeks became pink as she readily took in his compliments. She jumped up to her feet and started gesturing excitedly towards the window. Reginald opened the curtain, curious to see what she was pointing at.

"What is it that you want me to see?" said Reginald, careful to not let his growing impatience show.

She floated up the window, pointing out to the night sky. Following her extended finger, Reginald's eyes eventually rested on a brightly shining star.

"Is that where you're from? Are you pointing to that star?" he asked, eager for an answer.

She beamed at him, making her bell-like sound.

"Another world," Reginald said, his voice trailing off. This is exactly what he was looking for. A place where he could become great. All he had to do was find a way there.

"Oh, Fairy, it must be an absolutely wonderful place." She nodded in agreement. "If only I could visit you there. But I," said Reginald, looking sadly at her wings, "I don't have any way to get there. Boys can't grow wings." He let tears roll down his cheeks.

The fairy flew over to his shoulder and softly touched his shoulder.

"Perhaps you should go." moaned Reginald, "You wouldn't want to be trapped here, with a miserable, magicless boy." He let gave a little hiccup for emphasis.

Again, the fairy touched his shoulder. Reginald looked up.

"Y-yes?" he whimpered.

She flew above him and began to shake. Golden dust began to fall down upon the boy. "I've done it. Foolish fairy," he thought. But now, he wasn't sure what to make of it. He had never found out exactly what fairy dust could do.

"Oh, dear Fairy, how kind of you! But I am afraid that I do not know what to do. Will I vanish and reappear in your world?" asked the boy, his excitement barely contained.

She shook her head and made a diving motion into the air around her.

"Shall I fly to your world?"

Upon this question, the fairy's glow intensified as she gave him a full smile.

"Will I grow wings? How can I fly?" Reginald asked, this time almost barking out his question.

The fairy smiled and shook her head. She pointed to her face, looking as if it were in deep thought, and then suddenly smiled and allowed herself to float upwards.

"What do you—" Reginald's mind interrupted him before he verbalized his frustration.

_They like happy children._

Of course! He should of thought of it before. He needed to be happy, or at least think of something happy.

"Fairy, do I need to think of something happy?" he asked, softening his tone.

She smiled and nodded.

"Ha!" exclaimed the boy. And then he began to think. He needed only a single happy thought. That was easy to come up with. In his mind's eye stood a matured version of himself, proud and elegant. Around him was a sea of eyes, watching the renown captain step down from his ship, home from another voyage. Captain Reginald Plath—no! He was a famous captain, a hero! He could finally rid himself of that accursed name—

He began to float. Unsteady at first, he eventually straightened himself out, stomach facing the ground.

"I can fly!" he shouted. And with that he pushed forward towards the window. "Come along, dear Fairy! Lead the way!"

The fairy flew out the window. Just as she past him, he reached for the leather pouch tucked inside his pants pocket and scooped the remaining fairy dust on top of the dresser into the pouch.

"Never know when I might need that again," he thought to himself, tucking the pouch back into his pocket.

The boy flew out the window after his guide, now fully illuminated.

He paused for a moment in the air, looking back towards his room. For a brief instant, a look of fear past over his face. He shook his head. "Good riddance," he growled. And then he turned back towards the night sky.

As he sailed away, he thought he could make out footsteps coming from the hall outside his door. By the time his parents came into the room, Reginald Plath was halfway across London.


	3. Fateful Flight

They had been flying for what seemed like days. The ocean was far below them, appearing as a blue mat on the far off ground. Clouds floated by the odd pair, thin and wispy.

Reginald had caught on quickly to flying, though the fairy did occasionally have to steer the boy (by the feet) when he began to doze off or when he missed the change in current. Birds proved to be the worst challenge as they did not mind flying right at Reginald, careless as to whether or not they flew into him.

"Blasted birds!" cried Reginald, shoving a gull away. The boy was growing more agitated as the birds only added to his misery; he hadn't eaten in quite a while.

"Fairy, could you conjure up any food with that dust of yours?" asked Reginald, not guising his frustration.

The fairy shook her head and started pointing at the birds.

"Well I can't very well prepare poultry in mid-air, now can I?" barked Reginald.

Rolling her eyes, the fairy flew next to one of the gulls, pointing at its beak. It was then that Reginald saw the cheese in its beak.

"What, am I supposed to just snatch food from their mouth? That's daft!"

The fairy gave a shrug.

"Fine." With all the resolve he could muster, Reginald flew up behind one of the gulls at the rear of the flock, flying as quietly as possible. He grabbed the beak and quickly plucked a large cracker with cheese from its mouth.

"Ha!" exclaimed Reginald. "Stupid bird, you shouldn't—"

The gull, now very unpleased at having its lunch taken, flew straight at Reginald's face, squawking out a stream of insulting, and somewhat crass, language.

Reginald, now quite flustered, dropped several hundred feet before regaining his composure. The gull, content in having interrupted the boy's flight, returned to his family. A little ways ahead, the fairy could be heard _tinkering_ merrily.

The rest of the way to, well, wherever it was they were going, was much the same. When hungry, or bored as time went on, Reginald would pick on a passing bird. He got quite adept at dodging their wings and fell only once more, and that was when a rather large eagle came at the boy for insulting his wife. Other than that, Reginald continued to prey upon the other travelers, squealing with glee as he upset the birds and, most handily, got his meals. By the time they reached their destination, Reginald had procured and enjoyed a variety of cheeses, breads, and fish as well as a small bottle of Port.

A few hours later, as Reginald was harassing a rather perturbed osprey, the fairy flew to the boy and gently tapped his shoulder.

"What is it?" asked Reginald, careful to use a docile tone. The fairy had looked rather dejected after Reginald had last barked at her.

She smiled at him and pointed ahead. Reginald gasped.

There in front of them was what appeared to be a hole in the sky, just to the right of a dimly flickering star. Yet, it was not an empty hole. No, it was quite full of colors, as if the entire palette of Morning had been used to fill it up. Yellows and oranges, blues and greens and purples all swirled about, contorting themselves into elongated forms, stretching further down the hole.

It was the entrance to the fairy's world.

As they passed through the mouth of the hole, wonder overtook the dark child. Reginald had never felt anything like it before. He was happy, and yet terribly afraid. Though he was laughing, he was sure that he felt tears come down his face.

What was this? What adventure had Reginald finally found?

And then, just as soon as it begun, the feeling was lost. The tumult of colors gave way to a clear blue sky. They were flying lower now, and as they slowly descended Reginald could make out a lagoon that began to give way to a larger island. The island was of every shade of green imaginable. Trees stretched up to heights that Reginald had only read about at the schoolhouse. The lagoon shimmered in shades of blue and pink. Small forms jumped delicately into the air, spinning in the air and landing elegantly in the bright pools. A cleared area to on the island's west side had several columns of smoke rising high into the sky, forming the outlines of warriors and their prey. Close to this clearing was a rather large cove. Fog drifted across it, masking the dark waves below. 

They continued descending, until they were only about ten feet above the waves. The fairy was traveling at a quick pace, leaving the boy to catch up. But as he put his hands by his side to pick up speed (a trick he had learned watching the fairy), his attention was suddenly diverted by a green flicker in the corner of his eye. He turned his gaze towards the flash, but saw only a green line quickly vanish under the water. Reginald lost speed, now curious as to what it was he saw. He twisted in the air, now hovering above the water, desperate to find the mysterious form.

It was then that he heard it.

The soft sound of water falling upon itself gave way to a deep rumble. His heart dropped. The fear began as a twinge in his littlest toe and his pinky, then traveled down his arm and up his legs, and right into his heart. Reginald stopped breathing. This was no mere quaking of earth. It was a laugh, a cruel laugh from the pit of a great belly. The boy, no longer in control of his own movement, slowly turned.

In that moment, Reginald was sure that he would die. He would never forget that smile. Jagged teeth stuck out everywhere. The hide was not just green, but also of brown and ashy gray. The eyes were reddish, slit and angled upward in mocking glee. Nostrils flared as the creature stared hungrily at the boy. The terrible crocodile slithered upward through the water, drawing within but a few feet of the boy, its massive form blocking the child's sight from the island.

And the boy could not move.

He merely stared. His reflection appeared in the red pools of the crocodile's eyes. The crocodile had seen this look many times before. The wicked creature had a tendency to slow down when he saw his prey paralyzed by fear; he enjoyed the savor of hopelessness as much as flesh. The mighty jaws opened. Three rows of crooked fangs, tinted pink, appeared before the boy. In their midst, a hideous tongue of gray and black poised itself for the taste of meat. Reginald turned white. He began to lose his grip on the air.

But the croc never struck. Reginald was suddenly stirred by the sound of pipes. The crocodile's terrible eyes suddenly turned a sickening shade of yellow. The crocodile, without warning, crashed back under the waves, presumably swimming far away from the pipe's player.

Reginald turned to find the source of the sound, expecting the fairy. What he met instead caught him by surprise.

"A marvelous hero, aren't I?" asked a confident young voice, already sure of the answer.


	4. Lost Welcoming

**Sorry I've taken so long. Hope you all enjoy! Please read and review!**

**Oh, and of course, I have no rights to Peter Pan, the giant crocodile, Tink, or any other of Barrie's wonderful characters and/or lands. **

It took several minutes before Reginald's feet adjusted to the soft white sand of the shoreline. He was growing tired of the constant stream of self-praise coming from the tunic-clothed boy.

"Did you see how I swooped down on that crocodile? It was extraordinary! Magnificent!"

Now that they had finally come to the ground, Reginald was able to better see his savior. Though the boy kept afloat slightly above the ground, Reginald could tell that he was nearly a head shorter than himself. In between his statements of self-adulation, they had told each other their names. The boy had introduced himself as Peter, Peter Pan.

At this moment, the boy's green eyes were unfocused, lazily panning the trees ahead.

"Now where has she gotten off to," said Peter, his voice trailing off.

"What?" asked Reginald, now extremely irritated. Peter didn't turn.

"Hey, Pan! That's your name, right? Pan! Turn around. I can't hear what you're saying!"

"Hmmm? Oh. I'm sorry, who are you?" started Peter, now with a confused look on his face. "You look familiar. Did we—"

"Who am I? We just flew over here together! AFTER I WAS ALMOST EATEN BY A BLOODY CROCODILE!"

Peter's eyes brightened as he recalled his and Reginald's meeting. He started to laugh heartily.

"What's so funny?" demanded Reginald.

Peter was now upside down in the air, his eyes filled with tears as he laughed.

"Your eyes—they were so big—like a—" Peter said in between bursts of giggles, "like a—hahahahaha—"

"Like a what?" roared Reginald, his fists clenched tightly.

"Like a cod fish!"

And with that, Reginald decided to give the boy the beating of his life. His fists tightened. All he had to do was fly up to the boy. Pan would rue his stupidity.

Reginald started upward. If one had looked at his face at that moment, his eyes would not have seen deep blue orbs, but crimson red pools. He began to ascend, but stopped abruptly as a roar filled his ears. It came from behind the line of palms, about fifty meters from the shore. Several other wails followed the initial roar. Reginald, remembering his encounter with the crocodile, fell to the ground, covering his head with his hands.

Then Reginald heard quite a different sound coming from another direction. This cry was not far above him and sounded very near to the crowing of a rooster. Reginald looked up and saw that the ululation was not coming from a bird, but from Peter.

Reginald dug his body deeper into the sand as the bushes at the line of trees began to shake. Reginald lifted his head to see a bear's head breaking through.

"Well aren't you going to do something?" he hissed in fright, looking up at Peter. Peter, however, paid little attention as he was looking uninterestingly at the shaking bushes.

Reginald looked back. The bear's head had made it through the brush, but something was wrong. The arms hung oddly, swaying freely. Reginald was thinking this over when the rest of the bear came through. Reginald braced, looking at the—

Boy.

_Boy?_

Red haired and freckled. Square shoulders framed the enormous bear skin. He looked intently at Reginald.

"You brought us a new one, eh Captain?" asked the boy, still staring at Reginald.

"No. I think Tink did. Have you seen her?"

"Can't say that I have, 'cause I haven't. Oy, Nots! Where's Tink?"

The bushes began to rustle once more, this time with a deer atop the boy's head, complete with antlers. A pair of hazel eyes stared out from underneath the skin.

"Dunno, Dunker. Hey, Paddy! You seen Tink?"

Again, the bushes shook. This time, an elegant fox head appeared worn by a thin child with brown hair.

"Ain't seen her. Maybe Smee'll know. Smee! C'mon!"

A fierce wolf's head slid out from the brush. The lip still snarling, Reginald would have expected a large youth to have won the terrible trophy. Yet, the child beneath was the smallest of the group, short and slightly pudgy with grey eyes.

"I'm awfully sorry, Paddy. I haven't seen Tinker Bell. Oh, I do hope that she's alright," said Smee, meekly.

"Ah, don't worry about it," said Dunker. "Maybe Cog has seen her. Cog! Cog, where are ya?" Dunker took a step towards the bushes. "Oh, I bet that bugger's gone off to sleep again. Lousy git."

Sure enough, they heard the sound of soft snoring coming from behind a coconut palm.

"WAKE UP, COG!"

A dirty blond head shot up from the bushes.

"Right here! Is it Indians? Bears? I'll get 'em!" exclaimed the now alert Cog. Rather than wearing his bounty on his head, Cog had a rabbit skin on each shoulder.

"You seen Tink, Cog?" asked Nots.

"Well, I might've. I thought I seen her flyin'. There was someone with her. Looked like a buccaneer wearing a scarlet tricorne..." said Cog, dreamily.

"Ah, Cog, you're daft. Dreamin' again. Figures. Sorry, Peter. None of us 've seen Tink," said Dunker on the behalf of the gang.

"She'll turn up. Let's head over to Pirate Cove then," said Peter. He was anxious to have an adventure.

"Wait, Captain Peter! What about the new one?" asked Paddy, pointing at Reginald.

"Right. Well, boys, we needed a new man so I fetched us one, though I'm not sure how much use he'll be. He almost got eaten by Ol' Croc."

The boys started laughing. Reginald found his voice once more, his face blood red.

"Now listen here!" commanded Reginald. "I came to, to—whatever this blasted place is called—with a fairy. I've been flying for, I dunno, weeks and I'm half starved. Not to mention that I was almost eaten by a crocodile. I don't know what you mean about needing a "new man," but I swear if I don't get some respect, I'm going to box your ears!"

"Cheeky, ain't he, Captain?"

"What's 'is name?"

"Yeah, what's your name?"

"Gotta have a name."

"Nots didn't have a name."

"Now he does. Otherwise you wouldn't be callin' him Nots, now would ya?"

"Well, what's his name, eh, Cap'n?"

"Looks like a Roger to me."

"No, more like a Willy!"

"Or a Taff!"

"Don't be daft, Paddy!"

"Or a Soupie!"

"Or a Beauregard!"

"Belt up, Cog!"

"Put a sock in it, Dunker!"

"Why don't you go—"

"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" yelled Reginald. "My name is Reginald."

They froze.

"Reginald?"

"Reg. A fine name."

"My name isn't Reg. It's—"

"Here's to you, Reg!"

"Shall we put it in song?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Oy, Captain, give us a melody!"

Peter pulled out his pipes and the boys began to sing:

_Welcome Reg to Never Land,_

_Home of the Lost Boys' band!_

_Fear not paternal reprimand,_

'_Cept for Peter's sure, swift hand!_

_We the Boys have sailed away_

_From known homes to brighter Day,_

_Where Pan has fun in full array,_

_And calls the Boys to come and play!_

_Here, Dunker the most bold,_

_Wears the bear through which he holed!_

_Paddy, of all the Lost most shrewd,_

_Sports the fox he caught and stewed!_

'_Ello, Cog! A right sleepy sod,_

_Carries conies run through with Rod!_

_Now Smee, he's one of innocence, _

_Stuck his wolf without offence!_

_Our Nots, most filled with red strife,_

_Won the stag with bloodied knife!_

_And what of the newest to this barmy clan?_

_He's yet to prove a worthy man!_

The boys laughed as they ended their song. Reginald wanted very badly to say something in retort, but couldn't think of anything. He looked up and noticed that the sun was going down. Pinks and violets stretched across the sky. Finally, the sun dipped below the trees; the sky turned to a dark navy blue.

"Hear, hear, lads!" suddenly said Peter. "To our nests!"

"Captain, we don't want to go to bed!" protested Nots.

"Yes, I'm not even tired!" yawned Cog.

"I thought we were going to Pirate's Cove!"

"Yeah, Captain!"

"Please, Captain!"

"Off with all of you before I curse ya for mutiny!" commanded Peter. With that they all hurriedly took to the night sky, heading for the trees. Peter began after them.

Yet, there was still one boy behind on the beach. Reginald stood with his arms crossed, determined not to become one of Peter's blind toadies. "I won't," he muttered, "I'll get my chance and show them who deserves to be called captain."

The lone form on the beach rose into the sky after the other boys, following as a lion waiting for a chance to pounce.


End file.
